


Not One To Take Advantage

by thundergunexpress



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundergunexpress/pseuds/thundergunexpress
Summary: “Fine,” you sigh, “how about if you come in with me now, I’ll let you touch my boob.” … It’s the most ridiculous bribe, you’ve been together for over a year and he literally touched your boob before he left out the door, but judging by the sound of the door slamming shut and the scurry of his feet behind you, you’re pretty sure it worked.”
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 208





	Not One To Take Advantage

**Author's Note:**

> Round two baby!!! Please leave prompts/requests, I suck at coming up with my own and I’m struggling to think of interesting plots! enjoy ❤️

‘Outside x’

Send.

You drop your phone in your lap, looking up to the entrance of the bar. It was late, but you had volunteered to pick him up, not wanting him to have to drunkenly find his way back to your apartment on his own. It was a work do, which meant he would get absolutely wrecked. You loved to see him enjoy himself, being with the team allowing him to let go and relax with people he trusts. Plus, he was particularly handsy when he was drunk, and you loved the attention.

A hand smacking down onto the passenger window shakes you violently from your thoughts, your body jumping back against your door, shrieking as you recoil.

What the fu- Spencer.

You blink at his face which has suddenly appeared opposite you, a toothy grin on his face as he brings a hand up to wave through the window. Reaching over to unlock the door, you relax back into your seat, turning the key in the ignition.

“You’re such an idiot,” you huff as he shuts the door, hand reaching up to grab his seat belt but hitting the window with a thud instead. After a few more seconds of ungraceful grabbing, the belt clicks in place, and he brings his hand to his face to inspect the damage.

“Ouch,” he pouts, eyes wandering up to you under the dim light of the car, “hey, lets go to a store and get a first aid box,” he hesitates, “and also some chips. And chocolate.”

You laugh as the car pulls away from the bar, facing the road as you begin to drive in the direction of home.

“You has a good time then?” You raise your eyebrow, glancing over at him to find he’s already looking at you, “…what’re you looking at?”

“It was great,” he’s not so much slurring his words as he fumbling over them, eyes glazed and pupils blown from the drinks, “would’ve been better with you though.”

His hand lands on your thigh, squeezing and spreading his fingers across the fabric covering them. It’s literally right on queue, and you chuckle as you push his hand away.

“I’m driving, Spence.”

Home isn’t far, only a couple of minutes at this time of night, but you doubt he’s even registering that you’re in a car he’s that far gone. Clearly, he doesn’t care either way, his hand creeping back up your leg a lot higher than last time.

“Spence…” you warn, eyes keeping to the road, as he pushes his fingers clumsily towards your crotch. A shiver tickles up your spine as you feel how cold they are, finger tips pressing in slightly harder as his hand ascends up your leg. You can see your apartment building from where you are, fingers gripping the wheel as you keep your eyes forward.

You can hear him breathing beside you as you pull into your parking spot, key turning the engine off as the car falls dark. If you weren’t hyper aware of him touching you before, you are now. You turn to look at him, swallowing saliva you didn’t realise had built up. He’s biting his bottom lip over a smile, his eyes shining as he looks at you.

“You’re hotttttt,” he beams at you, grinning as his fingers find the lacy trim of your underwear. You let him rub at the material, your eyes still locked with his as you smile at each other. He’s so fucking cute when he’s drunk.

His smile falls into an over dramatic frown as you move your body away from him, pulling the door open as you hop out the car.

“Inside,” you pop your head back in, pointing to the front door, “before I make you sleep out here.”

He’s whines and crosses arms, childlike in his refusal to leave the car. It would definitely be annoying if it wasn’t for the smirk threatening to spread over his lips as his eyes sparkle - even in the dark. He’s toying with you, trying to get you to play along.

“Fine,” you sigh, stepping away from the car as you turn to the door, a full blown grin across his face as you look back, “how about if you come in with me now, I’ll let you touch my boob.”

It’s the most ridiculous bribe, you’ve been together for over a year and he literally touched your boob before he left out the door, but judging by the sound of the door slamming shut and the scurry of his feet behind you, you’re pretty sure it worked.

The lights are still on in the apartment, too bright in contrast to the dark outside, your eyes squinting as you turn the dimmer until the room becomes shadowed. Spencer slides past you, pulling at his tie as he drops down onto the couch, his hand reaching out, fingers grabbing the air.

“What are you doing?” You laugh, dropping your keys and making your way over to him. You need to go to bed, the early hour taking its toll, but before you can begin coaxing Spencer from his seat, his hand is grabbing your sweater, pulling you onto his lap at an awkward angle. You’re not really straddling him, one knee between his legs, holding yourself up by the pillows behind him.

Before you can readjust, his hand is looping round your neck, pulling you forward and crashing his lips into yours as he kisses you. It’s messy and it’s maybe a little bit too tongue-y, but he’s drunk, and he’s needy, and-

Drunk. Call it bad timing, his hands pushing under your sweater to feel your skin, a shiver shooting up your spine as he drags his fingers along your lower back.

“Spence,” you try to speak, but he’s lost himself in the kiss and he doesn’t even register the words, “Spence, we shouldn’t.” You pull yourself away from him and he looks panicked, desperate to get his lips back on yours.

“You’re drunk,” you explain, “what if I’m taking advantage of you.”

“No, no no no,” he drawls, “M’not drunk.” It’s cute and you really aren’t opposed to letting him just go wild on top of you, but something just feels a bit off, you being completely sober and him barely remembering his name. You sigh, pulling your bottom lip between you teeth as you look at him. You take in his pleading eyes, the way his body has melted into the couch, his hair dishevelled and lips swollen.

“I know,” your words are soft as you pull yourself away from him, settling on the couch in the spot opposite, the two of you sprawled out, watching each other. His brow is furrowed in confusion as he watches you, and you’re not sure if he’s waiting to see what you’re doing or if he just hasn’t even registered that you moved yet. It was quite the thrill being mentally superior to him, even if it was solely due to his blood alcohol level.

Bringing your hand up to your mouth, you relax into the couch, lips parting as you push your index and middle finger onto your tongue. You begin to suck on them, putting on a bit of a show for him, holding eye contact as you get your fingers wet. His pupils are fully dilated, chest rising and falling violently as he watches. You can see in your peripheral his hand creep up to his crotch, pushing his palm against the hard outline of himself under his trousers, whimpering at the first contact. Sliding your fingers from your mouth, you watch as they glisten in the dim light of the lounge. Spencer’s eyes follow them too, watching as you push your hand beneath the waistband of your sweatpants.

There’s something about the way that he can’t even see what you’re doing, the fact that he’s so visibly aroused just by the sight of you with no makeup and your pyjamas on infront of him that makes your hips jerk as your fingers come in contact with your clit. You begin to push your finger a tight circle around it, eyes fluttering shut as the feeling relaxes your body. It’s shameful how close you are just from a few seconds of your own touch, but the way Spencer’s eyes are watching you sets you on fire.

“We can both get what we want,” you say through laboured breaths, “we just can’t touch.”

His eyes shut and a whine escapes his mouth as he tugs on the fastening of his trousers. You watch him hurriedly pull down the zipper, lifting his hips as he pushes his clothes low enough that his cock springs free from its confines, slapping against his stomach and throbbing from the lack of contact.

It would be so easy to lean forward and lick a thick stripe up it, make him come undone with your mouth, even just with your hands, but this is exciting. You know he feels it too, the excitement of hands off, watching what you can’t have. His head is probably spinning right now, his fingers have wrapped around his length and he’s picked up a sloppy but quick rhythm, he doesn’t seem like he’s trying to make this one last.

Circling your clit a few more times, a guttural moan escapes your lips as you push your fingers further down, pushing two inside of yourself, feeling how wet you are. Bringing your other hand inside your sweats, you carry on with the tight circles you’ve been pressing over your clit, and- fuck.

It’s so good. Both hands are working at a rapid pace, you don’t know where to focus - your fingers which are working in and out of you, not quite filling you enough, or the knot forming in your lower stomach which threatens to snap and send you over the edge any second. You’re not even focusing on Spencer anymore, your head falling back onto the pillows behind you as you speed up your fingers. It’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so fucking- ah, good.

Your mouth falls open, no sound coming out as your muscles begin to spasm, your chest heaves up, struggling to keep your hands on yourself as your body moves involuntarily, shaking as you come.

Your mind feels like mush, your senses numb as you soak up every last second of your orgasm. The only thing your brain focusing on being the smacking sound coming from your boyfriend. Your eyes blink open as you lift your head, and how could you forget.

He’s still staring straight at you, his hand working over himself so fast you can barely see it. You know he’s close, he’s only bothering to pay attention to the angry red head of his cock, the noises falling from his lips becoming ragged and guttural. You know how much he loves watching you in pleasure, sometimes eating you out for hours, coming back up to face level with you, a wet stain on the front of his boxers just from watching you, not even having to touch himself to get off from it.

Pushing yourself onto your knees, you steady yourself on his thighs as you lean in, your face hovering above the erratic movements of his hands. He must think you’re about to take over, his hand slowing as he lets out a sigh which almost sounds like relief.

Neither of you have spoken since you started, and you keep it that way, not wanting to disrupt the magic boy in front of you. Your hand covers his, building a rhythm again as moans fall from his lips, despite the fact it’s his own hand. Just you setting the pace for him enough to make him want to come undone for you.

“I’m close,” the words barely make it out of his mouth, chest heaving as he looks at you desperately, eyes wide and pleading.

There’s not much time until he’s going to spill. Your eyes flick to his hand, and then back to his face. You weren’t going to touch him, but Jesus, you wanted to.

You look away from him, gaze averting as you concentrate on anything other than the thought of how he looks when he comes, his hair in his eyes and his lips red and bruised from his own biting.

You could perhaps compromise.

Leaving down, a thick line of spit falls from your mouth, hitting the head of his cock. It makes his hand slippery, the slap on his skin becoming louder as his movements become violent. You don’t wait to see his reaction, leaning up and connecting your lips just as messily as they’d met when you’d first got home.

The noise he makes is animalistic, strangled and as if he’d let go of all control of his body as he comes, fingers gripping onto your arm so tight it hurts. You press kisses against the edge of his mouth, his lips, his cheeks, gentle reminders of your presence as his body twitches, riding the wave.

It takes a minute of sitting in silence, chests heaving as you both allow yourselves to enjoy the moment together before either of you makes an effort to speak.

“You said,” he starts, muttering through heavy breaths, his alcohol laced breath hitting your nose as he speaks, “I could touch your boob.”

A laugh escapes you, grin lingering as you pull the two of you up from your slump on the couch. He’s messy, and as you look down you realise you’re messy too, but it can be dealt with in the morning. It’s nearly 4am, and you need sleep.

His arm drapes over your shoulder as you lead him towards your bedroom, supporting his drunk and spent body as best you can. Stripping him of his clothes and leaving them on the floor, you pull the blankets back and collapse into bed. He’s not far behind you, arms finding your body and wrapping round you as he settles his head to the pillow.

He’s not brushed his teeth, or washed, or had a drink of water as he normally insisted, but his grip on your waist and his face nuzzling into your neck convinces you that it’s not important.

His grip loosens, muscles becoming lax, the only noises coming from him the shallow breaths he takes as he sleeps. It’s soothing, your eyes shutting as you focus on listening to his breathing regulate. Seconds from falling into your long over due sleep, Spencer moves, his hand making his way from its spot on your waist and of course, even drunk and sleeping, he’s still the man you fell in love with, stubborn and insistent.

It lands on your boob, fingers resting there, gently squeezing as he hums sleepily, insistent on getting what he was promised, and your heart flutters.

You love drunk Spencer.


End file.
